"Memories warm you up
from the inside. But they
also tear you apart."
Haruki Murakami
When I decided to put the Short Frankfort century on the schedule, a century I have not done for a number of years, I did not realize how memory soaked these roads would be. Prior to putting the century on the schedule, I contacted Dave King as he had been saying that he wanted to do this ride and eat at Qdoba. I tell him I want to put it on the schedule, but I don't want to drive all that way and ride alone. At first, I thought it would not work for him, but then he says that it does and so I enter it on the club schedule.
In the end, Chris Quirey, Dave, Paul Battle, and I ride. You could have knocked me over with a feather when Paul arrives as he does not normally ride centuries, but as always I am glad to see his face for he is, indeed, a treasured friend. As we roll out into the unaccustomed coolness, Paul turns back for arm warmers. Dave jokes that he wishes he had brought his jacket. None of us have acclimated from the long stretch of ninety degree, humid weather to this cooler, dryer air. We wait at the turn and when he arrives, take off. I think I am glad for my sun sleeves. They are thick enough to mask the chill, but not thick enough to be uncomfortable...yet.
When we turn off of Old Taylorsville, I think how long it has been since I have ridden this road that I used to ride regularly. The road is busier now, but it is not scary busy, just annoyingly busy. As we pull out further from the park, the traffic lessens. For some reason, I think of being on Mike Pitt's wheel on this road and how I struggled to hold the pace we were going. Maybe I think of him because Paul mentioned that he was in Michigan with Tom and Sonia. Maybe I would have thought of it anyway. Oh, how that man could make me laugh. Thus begins a day of cascading memories along this route.
Paul and I spend the entire day together, and both of us have memories of this route. At the turn toward Southville, all of a sudden I am back on a 600K. I am making the turn toward the motel where I will snatch a couple hours of sleep and Alex Mead and Todd are heading out to finish the brevet without stopping. It is dark out, probably near midnight, but we exchange greetings as we pass, knowing each other only because, other than brevet riders, nobody else is on the road on a bicycle at this time of night. I remember the spill of the light on the pavement and my tiredness and thinking that there is no way I would want to finish without a few hours of sleep, but then I have never been the swift riders that those two are. Just me. Plodding along. Determined, but at my own pace having learned that this is the path to success of brevets.....your own pace, a pace that will vary throughout the ride. I always thought it so odd on brevets how you would think you were depleted and suddenly a spurt of new energy would randomly appear giving spring to your legs.
I briefly think of how I would love to do PBP again, but then I wonder about the wisdom of doing so for me health wise even if I could do it again for I have been diagnosed with osteopedia and I would like to keep it from sinking into osteoporosis. I have read that this can and can't be done and am in the process of trying to find out more. So much conflicting information. While cycling, apparently, is bad for your bones, I don't believe I will give it up. It brings me too much pleasure and eventually we end in one way or another though I am afraid of pain. I will just try to be sure I continue to lift weights and walk on other days and eat enough calcium. Today my pre-ride meal differed and even before my diagnosis I had switched to often having milk at store stops.
Soon we are at Southville. Both Paul and I wonder if it is open. It looks closed but there is a light on inside. On the way back, I notice a chair propped in front of the front doors and determine it is definitely closed. This makes me sad as I remember so many rides stopping there and so many riders that no longer ride. Vicky and Ron Dobbs come to mind as do Grasshopper (who rides an ebike) and Mike Kamenish (who still rides). I think of Mike and I when we did this century during Hurricane Ike and how, on the way back, when we stopped, I got a pop but tried to drink facing the wrong direction. Before I could get it to my lips, the wind pulled most of that much needed liquid out of the can leaving it mostly empty. I had not been able to drink because I could not take my hands off the handlebar because the wind would violently grab it, and I was so thirsty and in need of some energy. I remember the wind playing with the road signs, toppling some of them. But we finished as I kissed Mike's wheel as I had done the entire day glad he had come to ride and even gladder that no new century riders had shown up to ride.
Paul stops to try to find the route on his computer. He had not started it as he did not think the battery would last long enough, but though he thought he had downloaded it, he had not. We get a bit turned around coming out of the first store stop as we went to a different store than we normally frequent, but soon we are back on course.
All around us is green and I rejoice in it knowing that all too soon, winter will rob the world of color and my eyes will starve from spring. Occasionally I see iron weed and think of the brother I lost last year when the iron weed was in bloom. I think of how I wish we had been closer as I was to my other siblings, but even had he lived I somehow doubt this would have happened. Our life views and values were just too divergent. Sadness seeps into my heart at the loss, at all the losses. But I shake off any trace of melancholy in my appreciation of the beauty of the countryside. Fields of corn that are just starting to brown at the bottom. Bales of hay scattered throughout fields. At one spot, they are even putting up square bales, something that I rarely see anymore that was a norm when I used to help with the hay and straw. Fall definitely approaches and I wonder where summer went.
Dave and Chris pull away, and by the time we reach the
first store stop it is apparent that there will be two different paces
today. I tell them to head on and Paul and I will stay together. Dave
says he has decided he wants to eat at Chick Fil A rather than Qdoba.
This surprises me but I am fine with it though I don't know where in
Frankfort it is. I am not the biggest Qdoba fan though I will eat
there, and recently I have felt no pull toward Mexican cuisine, maybe
because of the extreme heat we have been experiencing for what seems
like forever.
Paul talks about riders that used to ride these roads with him: Adrian Hands, Jay Palmer, Lynn Roberts, Debbie Brown (?), and Allison Ebert among others. Most of the riders he mentioned I never met other than Lynn. I think of riders that used to ride these roads with me: Bill Pustow, Steve Sexton, Steve Rice, and others. Some stories I keep to myself, as I am sure does Paul, but others we share in the way that friends do, sharing a bit of our lives that the other was not present for but were, for some reason, important to us. Sometimes you know why you remember something, but other times, at least for me, it is a mystery why I hold on to a particular remembrance. At one point, I see a place where I remember stopping and sitting in the grass with Bill and Steve R. while a caterpillar crossed the road and, despite the light traffic, did not make it. I wonder why we were stopped there because I don't remember. Did someone have a flat? Were we just taking a brief rest? The reason eludes me even as I remember the smell of the grass and warmth of the day and the laughter and camaraderie.
When we pass a curve, I remember a century ride with Steve Rice, Bill Pustow, and Larry and an incident about a camera that happened, one of those incidents that can be viewed as cruel or funny depending upon your point of view. I miss those days when Bill, Steve, and I often did two centuries each week-end and were so young and strong. But even as they tear at my heart, I am grateful for those times despite the fact they are gone never to return. Not everyone has such memories.
Paul and I arrive at Frankfort and circle capitol building. They are doing construction which disrupts the circle a bit but no significantly and I realize that it was during the pandemic that I last did this route. I think I remember that they had small American flags in the back, one for each person in the state who had died of COVID. We pass the restaurant where both Paul and I remember sharing meals with others on rides and decide the reason we quit eating there is because of the climb that comes afterward. We both bemoan the stop light that always seems to catch us but that comes right when you are about to complete the climb. This time, miraculously, it does not catch either of us. At the top we look but and don't see Chik Fil A so eat elsewhere. I text Dave and Chris though I expect they have eaten and departed. As we leave, we see it but we see no bikes so head onward.
Both of us are tired but enjoy the company and memories on the rest of the journey. On Pea Ridge, I think of another brevet when I was with Dave and I accused him of trying to kill me. Dave loves to go fast on Pea Ridge, and I had ridden with him all day and was not about to let him drop me. Pedaling like a mad woman, somehow I hung on and we finished together, but I was done. I think of how Steve Sexton once told me it was his favorite road and how I miss his company. I think of the brevet where it rained all day. Steve and Bill had made fun of me for wrapping my lights in plastic wrap, but by the time we left Pea Ridge, they had to stay with me as I was the only one who had a working tail light.
We reach the parking lot at around five and Chris and Dave are long gone. We are tired but glad to have ridden some roads that hold memories for both of us. And yes, memories are a Janus. I am grateful for them and for the people I have been fortunate enough to know and have in my life, but on the other side there is the sadness of the passage of time and the changes that it brings for nothing is ever stagnant. Thanks, Paul, for your company. Today we have made new memories that might come back to us if we ride these roads again one day.
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